Centered
by Bronze-and-Navy-is-Creating
Summary: A man willing to do anything to bring back the love of his life, even if it means going to an ancient lost island with his brother in law...


Chapter One, Discovery

The voice of Nightvale was silent. He was often silent these days. Speaking only when he must.

He was also drinking. In his room at, only at night. Long after his son had fallen asleep with the rest of the house. He did not pretend to sleep but instead sat, curtains drawn, drinking bottle after bottle. Trying desperately to forget yet the cold ring burnt his finger, never letting him succeed.

He did not do much else. He no longer bowled. No longer ate at most places in Nightvale, even paying a fine over and over rather than eating at Big Rico's. He broke all of his canopic jars, as well as almost all his clothing and the house he and Carlos had just built not three years ago. Everything that reminded him of his better half was removed, say for a few very important things.

The books. Once Cecil acted repulsed upon seeing Carlos' plethora of research books which Carlos would always defend with "but babe, it's SCIENCE! AND these books I brought with me so they still work- see!" And then he'd flash pages and Cecil would sheild his eyes from the pages.

Now, if he were a dragon, those books- his husband's life's work, were his hord. His original excuse to Abby had been Esteban.

Esteban was not like other boys his age. He used to be, he'd been enrolled in Nightvale preschool just a year previously, but now he was home schooled. And he was the center of Cecil's universe now. A small planet that had captured a broken and lonely moon, blown off course by a terrible disaster. But it wasn't drifting aimlessly into the dark void, wandering to find a black hole to follow his first planets trajectory. Instead he had found a new force to pull him back, and so he wrapped tightly around him, never to be seperated.

Most of his rotation was spent on trying to fill the role of both parents. He couldn't stand to be away for more than a few minutes, and in honour of what his Carlos' dying wish has been, he made damn sure his son had the best education he could provide and that education would focus heavily on science. Which is what led Cecil one fateful night, to venture into his own personal hell.

The storage container. Everything that made it out of the fire was there, and Carlos' mini lab in the house has been fireproof. As they now lived with Steve and Abby, this was just put into Carlos other lab at their house.

The first night he had gone in, Abby found him the next morning, an utter mess. He'd failed the first night, becoming so overwhelmed with grief he'd collapsed in a drunken heap, sobbing over their wedding clothes which had somehow made it. Cecil had always suspected Carlos sprayed their clothes with fire protective chemicals as Cecil did insist on a fire dancer to officiate the wedding. But he was glad then that they survived, and terribly depressed the owner of the perfect neat wedding labcoat did not.

But he was stubborn. And after some fighting Abby reluctantly agreed to let Cecil go through the shed again, this time with supervision. Thankfully this worked and he emerged with a large stack of forbidden books. Very quickly, after reading the first chapter he came to two conclusions.

He knew nothing about science.

And this was the best thing he could have done.

So in the day, he spent hours upon hours, pouring over these books. This last bit of Carlos he had left. And if was like he was speaking to him with each little note or doodle, each sudden idea or random number. And sometimes, in more throughoughly used ones, he would read small bits of love poetry or a random thought about… about his radio host. A small a note to pick up something for Cecil because he remembered he liked it, or some observation he made about how happy Cecil made him. Occasionally he'd even find ones about how happy he was to have Esteban in his life, or a cute thing he did.

These often led to many tears and even more drinking that night. But still, like the mad man he'd become, he was obsessed. He was determined to learn everything he could about the field Carlos had lived for. To teach their son it as Carlos would have. And so when he taught Esteban he mainly focused on science, trying his best to dumb down the quantum physics he was just now understanding into bloodstones and shoes, something Esteban would understand. He was obsessed with making his son happy and knowledgeable.

But most nights he felt like a failure. He knew in his heart Carlos could have done far better. That he was always good at explaining such complex things to those less versed in science. And this led to even more murder of Cecil's liver.

That night was one of those nights. He was still pouring over a book, a new one off the stack, and nursing his third drink that night, starting his sloth like transition into zombified drunk which is where he typically ended up most nights. Still he was rather coherent. He could hear his little five year old snoring in the other room, one that used to be Steve's office but he had graciously transformed it for the broken little family. So now Esteban slept in the once office and Cecil the guest room with a shared wall. Cecil's room was barren say for the stacks of research and the copious bottles, but he made sure that Esteban had the room any child would dream for- minus the flesh eating unicorns. Anything he wanted he generally got so the room was stuffed with toys and any assortment of odd trinkets.

Cecil in his own baden room kicked a bottle at his feet, one the faceless old woman so kindly put there seconds before, when a knock sounded on the door. It was a thick knock and Cecil knew it was Steve.

"Yes Steve?" He asked, his voice a mere whisper, as it often was now.

Steve peaked his head in, biting his lip. "H-hey Cecil… um… I… can I come in?"

Steve, usually bolstering and quick to put his opinion in, was acting oddly hesitant which intrigued Cecil greatly. "Alright… but if it's about the bottles again, I told Abby I never drink outside this room and that it'd have to be the faceless old woman who keeps leaving them in the coffee maker."

"Er. Right… no it's not about that but I am glad someone told me that because I was getting confused. I thought it was Janice doing an art project, like the time she glued spheghetti bowls to a ceiling fan to explain the messiness of society? I didn't want to stand in the way of art but anyways. No that isn't why I'm here."

Cecil, noticing his tense nature, nodded and poured him a glass of strong brandy. "Well then. Spill." He said, offering him the glass.

Years ago Steve would have had no problem taking a glass. However after spending nearly two years watching Cecil attempt to drink himself to death might after night, he couldn't stomach the smell of alcohol, let alone drink it. So instead he politely waved his hand. "No thank you…" Cecil shrugged and merely drank his drink in one go before pouring himself another.

Steve didn't mention this as he continued, "So… I know this will sound crazy. I thought I was crazy, - but please hear me out before you judge. I have actual proof this time… so the other day I was following the lines in the sky. And this one looked… oddly urgent? It was pulsating to that one forcast 'second song'-" Cecil immediately drained his entire brandy glass and then another at the mention of the forecast but said nothing-" so I followed it and low and behold I… actually found something. Proof! Proof the police are hiding things … things like this… things that I think you'll find very- very important."

He handed over two things. First was an ancient script on the back of a lizard hide and the next an arrangement of flies stuck to a strip of sticky paper- standard death prophecy documents.

"When you… got married… i think they made his standard death date. Notice something odd?"

Lock jawed, Cecil took the strip first and read the date.

It was not the date at the base of his tombstone nor statue. It was a year, far far from then. And Cecil couldn't really tell if it had a five or three at the end so there was comfort in that but regardless… it was not the year Carlos died.

Even more suspicious was the ancient script, painted with brown mud from the brown stone spire if Cecil had to guess. Slowly he read outloud, a bit slurred from drinking so much, "Things can be changed. Things can be returned and fixed, especially for those who believe in science at Lynx island…"

Cecil lowered the scales as Steve said with an honest smile "I think we can bring him back Cecil."

Wtnv

Sooooo that was a rollercoaster. This is obv. Set a bit after the current episodes. After this some chapters will be in radio style, normal novel style or mixed.

Please leave likes/kuddos/comments! Love you all! Good night Nightvale, Good night! (No really good night. It's 4:42 am here. I need to use the sleep).


End file.
